


Steel and Whiskey

by saltnhalo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (but with a little bit of plot), Alpha Castiel (Supernatural), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), BAMF Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, First Meetings, Knotting, M/M, Mafia AU, Mistaken Identity, Mobster Castiel, Mobster Dean Winchester, Omega Dean, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 09:59:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19170982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltnhalo/pseuds/saltnhalo
Summary: When Castiel agrees to meet with the leader of the Winchester pack in the heart of his territory, he does not find the alpha he’s expecting. Instead, he meets an omega in Dean Winchester’s apartment with stunning green eyes and an alluring air of danger.Someone should have warned Castiel that the Winchester leader is not an alpha.





	Steel and Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for the [Destiel Fresh Hits challenge](https://destielfreshhits.tumblr.com)! My handicap is maxed out at 100 :) this fic is an idea that I've been wanting to write for a while now, so I'm glad that this game gave me the excuse!
> 
> Enjoy <3

The head of the Winchester pack lives in a penthouse suite in one of the tallest buildings in the city. It’s not a place that Castiel has ever thought he would be visiting.

With the way his pack is suffering at the hands of the Winchester-owned police and Winchester’s own goons, however, his plans have had to change. The Novaks have held the city ever since Castiel can remember, but now that the tide is beginning to turn against them, he would rather see his pack form some kind of alliance with their rivals, instead of continuing to fight until the Novaks are all but run into the ground.

Which is why he’s here; walking through the lobby of Dean Winchester’s apartment building with six members of the Winchester pack flanking him. They turn heads, of course, six suited men accompanying a single alpha, but no one stops them. Most of the people in this building know how the man in the penthouse earned his place—and if they don’t, they certainly speculate. Still, there are far too many variables here for Castiel’s comfort, and he much prefers his heavily gated compound just outside the city limits.

Maybe that’s why Winchester has been such a successful alpha after the recent death of his father; living here, in the heart of the city, means that he definitely keeps his finger on the pulse.

No matter. He won’t have an advantage for long. The fact that he’s agreed to meet with Castiel tonight gives him hope that Winchester is open to some kind of deal, a parley of sorts. Both sides have lost too many men in the territory skirmishes, and it’s time to put an end to the bloodshed and see just what they can accomplish if they work together.

Castiel and his entourage stop in front of the elevator. It’s private, requires a keycard and a hand scanner, and only stops at the lobby and the penthouse. The guard in front of Castiel swipes his card and presses his hand to the scanner, which goes green, and the doors slide open. The elevator is more than large enough to admit all seven of them, and they stand in silence as the doors close again and they begin their ascent.

His companions aren’t particularly chatty, then. That’s fine.

He’s already figured out how he could take each one of them down, after all. The short one keeps his hand hanging near his gun—he’s trigger-happy, and Cas could manipulate him into shooting at least two of his friends if he moved quickly enough. The older one walks with a slight limp that belies an old injury, easy to use against him. The head guard would be the biggest challenge, but Castiel still has his weapons on him. It couldn’t be too hard to take him down.

He won’t, though. As much as he dislikes the Winchester pack, he respects them. Showing up at Winchester’s front door with six dead guards wouldn’t exactly be the most polite greeting. So he keeps his stance even and neutral, clasps his hands loosely behind his back, and waits. The elevator climbs up and up in silence.

Finally, the ascent slows, then stops. The doors slide open. Three of Castiel’s guards step out ahead of him, and the others follow when he steps forward.

“Weapons?” one of them asks gruffly, and the corner of Castiel’s mouth lifts in a smirk.

“Do you really have to ask?”

They pat him down, two at a time, and he holds his arms out to let them. He’s the picture of casual innocence, only raising his eyebrows at them when they find a pistol, two knives, a dagger tucked down the side of his boot and another gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans. They pat him down a second time, then a third time, just to be sure—rumour on the streets is that the Novak alpha may be young, but he’s just as resourceful and twice as deadly.

One can never be too sure.

Finally, with all of his weapons confiscated (Winchester didn’t send fools to escort his rival, these guys know what they’re doing, much to Castiel’s mild annoyance), the guards deem him safe enough to enter. “Novak is coming in,” one says into the intercom in front of the single door on this floor. The light beside it turns green, and the locking mechanism makes an audible click. The guards step away from Castiel, although they never stop eyeing him suspiciously, as though they’re constantly poised to act in case he tries anything.

“Nice meeting you,” he tells them with a wink. He pushes one hand into his pocket, reaches for the door handle with the other. It yields to his touch, and he gives the guards one last smirk before he slips inside.

Now it’s just him and Winchester.

The pack leader’s apartment is spacious and fancy—all big windows and gleaming surfaces, everything looking as though it would cost three times what a normal person would make in a year. But then, the business that they’re in isn’t exactly normal.

Castiel takes his time as he makes his way past the foyer and into the rest of the apartment beyond. The sun is setting beyond the city skyline, throwing the rooms into a deep golden shadow. The view would _almost_ be enough to distract Castiel, were he not so well trained. As it is, he still needs to be alert—this is the heart of enemy territory, and even though he and Winchester have called a temporary truce, he still doesn’t trust the man as far as he could throw him. He did, after all, show up to this meeting with as many weapons as he could feasibly hide on his person.

His feet lead him into what must be some kind of living room. The entire outwards wall is made of glass, and the room decorated with lavish carpet, glass and steel furniture, and several plushly upholstered couches.

Seated on one of them, leg dangling languidly over the arm and a glass of alcohol in his hand that looks an even darker amber in the setting sun, is a man.

Castiel’s first glance reveals that the man is beautiful; short brown hair, a strong jawline, green eyes that burn into Castiel’s soul as their gazes meet across the room. He’s wearing a flannel that falls loosely over a tight black t-shirt, and his feet are bare. He looks for all the world like a picture of leisure, of decadence, of beauty, and Castiel hears himself give a quiet intake of breath.

The second thing he notices, as he surreptitiously draws in air over his tongue and scents the room, is that this man is an _omega_. He is syrupy caramel with an underlay of apples and the sharp tang of steel. It’s not a combination that should work, but it makes Castiel’s mouth water. Suddenly, he regrets wearing his nicest, most form-fitting jeans to this meeting.

Which reminds him—flirting with an omega, no matter how stunning, is not why he’s here. He gives the rest of the apartment, or what’s visible of it, at least, a quick once-over. There’s no sign of anyone else, not even a second glass. Just this omega, lazing on the couch like he owns the place. So where is the Winchester alpha?

“Are you a friend of Dean Winchester’s?” he asks—the first thing to break the silence between them. Castiel can’t scent another alpha in here right now, but that doesn’t mean he’s _not_ here, or that he won’t be back shortly.

The omega blinks at him—once, twice—and then a slow smile curls his lips. It’s a smile with a secret, seductive, playful. It means: _I know something you don’t_. “You could say that,” he says, and his voice is a honey-soaked drawl that goes straight to Castiel’s dick.

Castiel shifts his feet, clears his throat. He’d been more than prepared to meet with the Winchester pack’s alpha tonight, but somehow, this gorgeous omega has thrown him for a loop. “Is he here?”

The omega looks him slowly up and down, then grins, a curve to his lips and flash of teeth that feels sharp and appraising. “He’s out on business right now. I’m sure he’ll be back soon…?”

“Castiel.”

“ _Castiel_.” The way the omega says it is either like a prayer, or like a sin—he can’t decide which, not right now. He swings his leg off the arm of the couch and sets his drink down on the table nearby, then stands. For an omega, he’s surprisingly tall, and as he crosses the distance between them with measured strides, bare feet sinking into the carpet, Castiel realizes that the omega might even have a full inch on him. “Nice to meet you, Cas,” he says, extending his hand to shake.

When Castiel takes his hand, expecting it to be soft, he instead finds it rough and calloused, the same way Cas’s is from years of fighting and training with weapons. _Interesting_ , he thinks, and files the observation away, unsure of what to make of it right now. Apart from the roughness, the omega’s grip is warm and strong, and even that single point of touch feels like electricity racing through his veins. This close, his scent is almost intoxicating. “Likewise,” he replies, and his voice feels as though it’s dropped half an octave. “What can I call you?”

The omega pauses, his hand still in Castiel’s. “Michael,” he says finally. “You can call me Michael. Can I get you a drink, Cas?”

Castiel meets the omega’s— _Michael’s_ —gaze, though it’s a name that doesn’t quite seem to fit such a beautiful, mysterious man, and says, “I won’t say no to that.”

Michael’s smile widens, and he lets go of Castiel’s hand, turning on his heel. “What’s your poison, handsome? Whatever you could want, it’s all here.” He leads Castiel back over to the couches and motions for him to take a seat, then makes his way over to the expansive-looking drinks cabinet. “Bourbon? Rum? Whiskey?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re drinking,” Castiel says, taking a seat on the couch closest. Michael looks at him over his shoulder, holding his gaze for a moment, then nods.

“A man with good taste.” His lips curl up into a smirk, and he reaches for a bottle. “You a fan of Macallan?”

It’s not something that Castiel has ever tried—he prefers to put his money elsewhere, rather than purchasing insanely expensive bottles of whiskey—but he’s not going to admit that to a handsome omega like Michael. “It’s one of my favourites.”

Michael nods approvingly as he pours out a generous three fingers of whiskey, then caps the bottle again and replaces it. Without looking, he reaches for the light switch by the cabinet, flicking on the lights and turning the dial to dim them back down. “Sun’s going down, and it’s no fun drinking in the dark,” he explains as he brings Castiel’s drink over. Their fingers brush as Michael hands him the glass, and Castiel sucks in a sharp breath. From the look in the omega’s eyes, it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you sure Winchester won’t mind us raiding his liquor cabinet?” Castiel asks as Michael retrieves his glass and takes a seat beside Castiel. They’re sitting so close that Castiel can feel his body heat, and all he can smell is whiskey and caramel. Michael’s body is angled towards him, open and inviting, and he could very easily drown in those sparkling green eyes.

As Castiel watches, Michael lifts his glass to his lips. His throat is a graceful curve that bobs as he swallows, and Cas wants to badly to know what that skin would feel like beneath his lips, or how Michael would writhe with a well-placed bite or two. By the time he’s lowering the glass again, Castiel is hard in his jeans, arousal curling into the air between them.

“I’m pretty sure Winchester won’t mind,” Michael murmurs, and in the low lighting of the apartment and the last of the sun’s setting rays, his green eyes are as molten and captivating as his voice. “We don’t have to keep talking about _Winchester_ , though. He’s not here right now.” His lips curl up into a flirtatious smile, and he leans in closer. “ _I’m_ here.”

Castiel is playing a dangerous game, entertaining the idea of seducing someone who apparently has full access to Winchester’s apartment when he’s not home, who _must_ be involved with the pack leader in some way. Whether the omega is something serious to Winchester, or nothing more than a hired fuck, he can’t be sure, but with the way Michael is watching him, with parted lips and a _come fuck me_ gaze, he’s not going to overthink it too much.

“So you are,” he says, letting himself relax and leaning back against the couch. He angles himself towards Michael and raises his glass in a mock toast before taking a sip. “Fuck, that’s good.”

The corners of Michael’s lips quirk up. “Damn right it is,” he drawls, and his gaze never leaves Castiel’s. “I’m glad you can appreciate a good whiskey.” He leans closer, as though he’s naturally gravitating towards Castiel, and his tongue slides out to wet his bottom lip. His voice, when he speaks, is a sultry murmur. “What else can you appreciate, _Castiel_?”

If there had ever been in any doubt that the omega is into him, the last of it dissipates now, as the scent of caramel and ripening apples grows stronger. Michael _wants_ him, and with the smell of aroused omega in his nose, any kind of deal he was supposed to be making with the Winchester pack tonight has become the last thing on his mind.

“I can appreciate a beautiful omega when I see one,” he tells Michael. There are only a few inches between them now, and Castiel never breaks his eye contact with Michael as he slowly closes them, until there’s barely a hair’s breadth separating their lips. “I can appreciate an omega who’s _attractive_.” He turns his head just so, so that instead of their lips making contact, his kiss brushes over the line of Michael’s jaw. “An omega who’s _sharp_.” He noses up under Michael’s jaw, presses his lips to the soft skin that he exposes. “An omega with… _taste_.” His teeth scrape lightly over the bolt of the omega’s jaw.

Michael’s breath hitches. For the first time tonight, it feels like Castiel has managed to gain the upper hand; set him off-kilter. When he speaks, his voice is shaky.

“I-is that so?” he asks, breathless. His head tips back, just barely, but enough to grant Castiel access to his throat. “Why don’t you _show_ me… how you can appreciate an omega, then?”

Castiel smiles against Michael’s skin, then lifts his head once more. Michael’s eyes are lust-dark, his bottom lip captured between his teeth. “It would be my pleasure,” he whispers.

There’s an electric moment of stillness between them, Castiel holding his breath, and then Michael is kissing him.

He kisses with heat and intensity and skill, his fingers winding their way into Castiel’s hair and pulling just hard enough to make him moan. To retaliate, Castiel sweeps his tongue across the seam of Michael’s lips, then licks into his mouth when the omega’s lips part. He can play just as dirty, and the dominating nature of his kiss pays off when Michael makes a whimpering noise against his mouth and presses closer.

For a minute or so, they’re too caught up in the thrill to worry about their slightly awkward positioning on the couch, but eventually it’s Michael who breaks the kiss, his cheeks flushed and lips pink. Wordlessly, he takes Castiel’s glass from his hand and sets both glasses aside on the coffee table; his movement stirs the scent of slick into the air, and Cas is achingly hard in his jeans right now.

When he turns back towards Castiel, the alpha curls his fingers into the edge of Michael’s flannel and pulls him in, his other hand sliding around the back of his neck. “So fucking sexy,” he murmurs, and Michael smirks as he settles into Castiel’s lap, all warmth and muscle and sinfully sweet scent.

“Could say the same about you, Novak,” he says, and something flags in Castiel’s brain, but it’s totally derailed by the hint of a growl in Michael’s voice and the things it does to his insides. He can’t help himself; he pulls the omega in close and kisses him again, one hand firm against the back of his neck while the other roams, pushes, pulls, touches every part of Michael that he can reach. He’s desperate, _intoxicated_.

Kissing Michael is incredible, especially with the way he arches and moans when Castiel kisses up his throat and bites at his jaw, but Castiel hasn’t been this fucking turned on in months. He’s eager to move things forward, to get to the good stuff and see just what kind of pretty sounds he can get from the omega.

One of his hands drags over the bulge in Michael’s jeans, and he moans, grinding against Cas’s hand and down over Cas’s cock. He’s got a fantastic ass that Castiel can’t wait to be buried in, and even that friction makes him hiss out between his teeth. Michael smirks and kisses him again, keeping his ass moving against Cas’s clothed cock. At this point, Castiel can barely get his brain online enough to fumble at the hem of Michael’s shirts, but he somehow manages to push them up his chest, and they break their kiss for just long enough that Michael can pull them up over his head and toss them aside.

All of a sudden, there’s so much new skin bared to Castiel’s gaze, and he drinks it in greedily, running his hands over firm muscle and smooth, freckled skin. Surprisingly, Michael has a few scars and some ink, and Cas pauses in their kissing to check the tattoo out.

It’s a star on his chest, surrounded by a ring of flames—the emblem of the Winchester pack, Castiel realizes in his lust-clouded haze. He himself has a tattoo of the Novak emblem, the pair of wings on his left bicep. He got it just after his father died, when he became the alpha of the Novaks. There’s only one person at a time who’s ever allowed to wear the emblem of a pack inked onto their skin.

The pieces fall into place.

“ _You_ —“ is all Castiel manages to say, before there’s a knife at his throat and fingers twisted into his hair, forcing his head back to expose his throat.

The smirk on Dean Winchester’s face never wavers. For a handful of seconds, they watch each other, both breathing heavily as the extent of Castiel’s situation sinks in. The caramel of Dean’s scent has faded, replaced by the sharpness of steel.

“I was wondering when you’d figure it out, or _if_ you even would,” Dean muses. His gaze flicks down to Castiel’s throat when he swallows, watching the press of the knife against vulnerable skin. “I guess no one told you that the leader of the Winchester pack wasn’t an alpha, huh?”

 _Idiot_. He should have known better—shouldn’t have let himself be deceived by a beautiful omega with a steel-sharp smile and wide green eyes.

“They didn’t,” he says quietly. His hands have gone still, now, pressed against Dean’s skin. There’s no way of knowing what Dean is going to do next, so he tries his best not to move, not to provoke. He’s so fucking _stupid_. “You let me believe you were someone else, though. Why?”

Dean hums. His grip in Castiel’s hair loosens slightly, although the pressure of the knife against his skin doesn’t abate. It hasn’t drawn blood yet, but Cas can feel that it’s on the very verge. “To fuck around and have some fun,” he says, shifting his hips in Castiel’s lap once more. His erection had only waned slightly; now Castiel’s arousal builds again, and he makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat. Dean smirks. “As for the rest of it… you’re hot, what can I say?”

“Well, thank you,” Cas mutters dryly. “If you’re planning to kill me, at least let me finish my drink first. Besides, if you cut my throat here, the dry cleaning bill is going to be terrible.” He’s definitely scared for his life, but that’s not something he can show Dean. He’s been in worse situations than this before—if he keeps his head, hopefully he’ll be fine.

Dean watches him, eyes narrowed. His scent shifts, as though he’s thinking, processing, and his grip on the knife handle tightens. “I pulled the knife because I didn’t know how you were going to react,” he says finally, “and I don’t like being on the back foot.” He grins, all teeth and roguish charm that sends a shiver up Castiel’s spine. Something in his wiring is fucked up, that’s for sure, but he couldn’t care less right now. “Are you going to behave if I put it away?”

It feels like they’re moving back towards even ground, if the playfulness in Dean’s scent and the fact he’s still watching Cas like he wants to fuck him is any indication. Maybe he’ll make it out of tonight alive, after all. “I don’t know about _behave_ ,” Castiel says with a hint of a smirk, finding his footing once more, “but I’m not going to hurt you. I did come here to make a deal, and that hasn’t changed, even if you did lie to me and get halfway into my pants.”

For this first time tonight, Dean laughs. It’s deep and rich and infectious to the point of making Castiel smile. His grip on Castiel’s hair eases completely, and the knife falls away from his throat, then gets tossed over onto the coffee table, coming to rest by their drinks. “Good,” he says, settling his weight back onto Castiel’s thighs. His hand slides through Castiel’s hair to the back of his neck, then drags down his chest to the opening of his shirt. “We can talk business, if you’d like. That’s why you’re here, after all. But…” Dean looks up at Castiel through his lashes, his bottom lip caught devilishly between his teeth. “We can also finish what we started. Seems like that might be the option you’re leaning towards, hm?”

He grinds against Cas’s cock again in a slow, deliberate movement, then leans forward until his lips are barely brushing the alpha’s ear. “I bet I can make you scream, Cas.”

And if there had been any doubt in Castiel’s mind before, that makes his decision for him.

He growls in the back of his throat and reaches up to knot his fingers in Dean’s hair, tilting his head and kissing him for all he’s worth. If the first kiss had been sultry and sexy, this one is fierce, desperate, not asking but _taking_. Dean moans into his mouth, clearly taken aback for just a second before he’s giving as good as he gets. He curls his fingers into the fabric of Cas’s shirt and pulls, ripping the buttons off carelessly in his desperation to get the alpha naked _now_.

It’s a sentiment that Castiel can wholeheartedly agree with.

He doesn’t stop kissing Dean as he wrests his shirt off, not caring if he damages it. Dean has enough disposable cash, he can replace it. What matters right now is the moment, and Dean, and desperate arousal that sears through Castiel’s veins. He runs his hands over Dean’s bare skin, down to the waistband of his jeans to his ass. “Fuck,” Dean gasps between kisses as Cas guides the rock of his hips with a firm grip, nails digging into Castiel’s shoulders. “That all you got, Novak? A bit of dry humping? C’mon, you can do better than that.”

Castiel ducks his head and bites at Dean’s shoulder, a scrape of teeth that’s just enough to both warn and excite. Dean has a point, though—he’s so hard that he feels like he might explode, and all that’s keeping him from sinking deep into the omega are a few layers of clothes that have to go.

He keeps kissing Dean even as he slides his hands around to the omega’s fly, biting at his lips and licking into his mouth. His fingers fumble with the button and the zipper, his brain more than a little distracted by Dean’s kisses, but it’s not long before he manages to get them undone. Dean gasps against his mouth as Castiel shoves down the waistbands of his jeans and boxer briefs and wraps a hand around his cock.

“Feel good, sweetheart?” Cas murmurs between kisses.

Dean chuckles against his lips, and even though he’s breathless, there’s a darkness to his tone. “Call me sweetheart again and the knife’s gonna come back, Novak. I’m warning you because I want to see if you’ll be a decent fuck, but next time I won’t be so generous.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows. There’s no way he can treat Dean like he’d treat any other omega, that’s clear. He has to remember who he’s dealing with. “Understood,” he says with a smirk, stealing another kiss.

Dean rolls his eyes, and his fingers flex against Castiel’s skin like he’s considering pulling away—until Cas swipes his thumb through the precome gathering at the head of his cock and any resolve towards murder dissipates along with a full-body shudder. “Fuck,” he gasps, and even that single sound is so pretty that Castiel almost aches with his desire to see what other noises he can pull from the omega.

“Get those fucking jeans off,” he growls, and Dean hurries to comply, pushing them down as far as they’ll go before he has to climb off Castiel’s lap in order to get them off all the way. Castiel follows after him, leaning up to keep kissing him and jacking him slowly as Dean fumbles with his pants. When he climbs back into his lap, Dean is all bare, warm skin, pressing against Castiel as much as he can. The scent of slick is almost making Castiel dizzy.

He keeps stroking Dean with one hand while his other roams, sliding over Dean’s hip and down to the cleft of his ass. He’s so wet, and for a few seconds Castiel just teases his finger around his hole, barely brushing but not pressing in just yet. Dean writhes, bites at Cas’s lips, digs his nails into Castiel’s shoulder hard enough to leave marks. “If you don’t fuck me soon, I’m gonna decide that I’m done with you, Novak,” he threatens, though there’s a shake in his voice that somewhat negates the severity of it. “Stop being a fucking _tease_.”

Castiel smirks against Dean’s lips, thumbs over the head of Dean’s cock, and sinks his finger all the way into Dean’s ass.

The omega groans, pulling away from the kiss for a moment to give voice to his pleasure. His nose bumps against Castiel’s jaw, and he turns his head, taking advantage of Dean’s distraction to suck a mark into the soft skin of his throat while he starts to move his finger, slowly fucking Dean with it. It’s already not enough for Dean, that much is clear, but Castiel wants to see if he can make the leader of the most powerful pack in the city _beg_ for it.

It turns out that that might be harder than he’d thought.

Dean rides back on Castiel’s finger and lifts his head to kiss Cas once more. His fingers scrabble at Cas’s fly for a few delirious seconds until he manages to get his jeans undone, and then there’s a warm hand wrapping around his cock and it becomes decidedly more difficult to keep his resolve about waiting for Dean to beg. The omega is so good with just his hand that it makes Cas wonder what his mouth would be like—what those plush lips would look like stretched wide around his cock, green eyes looking up at him.

He really shouldn’t be thinking like that if he wants to avoid blowing his load before he even gets inside Dean. Instead, he focuses on the kiss, and on the finger he’s teasing in and out of Dean’s ass, his other hand barely moving over the omega’s cock. Between every kiss now, Dean is making small growls of desperate frustration, his grip on Castiel’s cock just shy of too tight. Not that Castiel isn’t a fan of a little bit of pain, though, and even more so when it’s an omega like Dean that he’s with.

Willing to indulge Dean a little more, he slides a second finger in alongside the first, and Dean rocks back against them with more desperation. “You gonna fuck me or what?” he growls, biting hard at Castiel’s bottom lip. When they pull back for breath, Castiel just smirks, and Dean must see the answer in his eyes.

“Oh, hell no,” he bites out, and before Castiel realizes what’s happening, Dean is reaching behind himself and wrapping his fingers iron-tight around Cas’s wrist. He pulls Castiel’s hand away from his hole and pins against the couch beside the alpha’s head—close enough that Dean’s slick is all he can smell, but not quite close enough to taste, and Castiel’s alpha is going wild at this point. Dean smirks and shifts his grip on Castiel’s cock, wrapping his fingers around the base as he shifts his hips. Castiel realizes what he’s about to do only a second before he does it, as the head of his cock rubs over the omega’s slick hole once, twice, barely breaching him but enough to make him _crave_ the real thing.

And then, with a flex of his muscled thighs and a perfect shift of his weight, Dean sinks down onto Castiel’s cock in one smooth, fluid motion.

Suddenly, all Cas can think about is the insanely tight, wet heat currently gripping his cock. Dean feels _perfect_ around him, and his free hand instinctively flies to Dean’s hip, gripping him tight. He has no idea whether it’s to keep Dean still so that he doesn’t come on the spot, or to encourage him to move so that Castiel doesn’t explode, but either way, he doesn’t think that decision is up to him any more.

“ _Dean_ ,” he chokes out, and Dean lets go of his wrist to cup his face with both hands and kiss him. He kisses like he’s a drowning man gasping for air, and Castiel kisses back with just as much fierce intensity. It’s a push and pull between them, an unspoken battle to see who will come out on top. Against, Castiel doesn’t really think that he’s going to win this, but then again, it’s the _battle_ of it all that makes it fun for him.

Dean’s ass is flush against Castiel’s thighs, and he hates having the denim of his jeans separating them when he could be feeling even more of Dean’s skin against his own. He lifts his hips, jostling his cock inside Dean and driving it impossibly deeper as he fights to push his jeans down and kick them off. The omega moans against his lips, winds his arms around Castiel’s neck and grinds his hips in a dirty circle that completely short circuits Cas’s brain just as he’s trying to kick his jeans off his left foot. “You don’t play fair, you know that?” he gasps, his other hand flying to Dean’s hip and gripping him so hard that he might be leaving bruises. He doesn’t think that Dean will particularly care if he does.

“I know,” Dean says with a smirk, and then he captures Castiel’s mouth in a toe-curling kiss as he raises himself up off Cas’s cock and then slams back down, fucking himself on the alpha’s dick. He moves with power and purpose and Castiel is already struggling to catch up with the intensity of Dean’s kiss, let alone the feeling of the omega riding him.

Once he gets with the program, though, he uses his grip on Dean’s hips not just to hold on but to encourage his movements, slamming Dean down into his lap until the sound of his thighs smacking against Dean’s ass fills the apartment. Dean is touching him everywhere—dragging his fingers through Cas’s hair, cupping his jaw desperately, raking his nails over Castiel’s skin. The slight hint of pain only sharpens the pleasure that courses through Castiel’s body, and he moans against Dean’s lips every time the omega clenches down around him.

Dean bites out a whimper as Castiel pulls away from the kiss, leaning his head back against the couch to watch. The omega’s tanned skin is flushed and damp with the sweat of his exertion. There’s a tiny furrow of concentration between his brows as he concentrates on his movements, but when he sees Castiel watching him, it smooths out into a smirk. “Enjoying the view there, Novak?” he asks breathlessly.

Castiel makes a strangled sound as Dean drops all the way down, grinding his hips in a filthy circle that massages the knot starting to form at the base of Cas’s cock. Still, he manages to grin, raising his eyebrows at Dean in a challenge as he says, “I’ve had better.”

That draws the hint of a scowl from the omega, and a quick burst of something sharp flashes across his scent. Jealousy? Before he can really process it, though, Dean is moving again, redoubling his efforts. He presses against Castiel’s chest and winds an arm around the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair while his other hand grips Cas’s shoulder. Their foreheads are pressed together and their noses bump—too distracted by their pleasure to do much more than share the occasional open-mouthed kiss as Dean rides Castiel like his life depends on it. Cas plants his feet on the floor and rocks his hips up into Dean, meeting him halfway, and _fuck_ , it feels infinitely better.

He’s managed to stave his orgasm off for this long, but Castiel can quickly feel himself losing the battle. “Dean,” he breathes—a warning. Dean nods against his forehead, his breathing coming quick and fast now. They’re both close, and Castiel keeps guiding Dean with a hand on his hip while his other slides down to wrap around the omega’s cock.

The touch makes Dean moan, a beautiful sound that only improves when Castiel begins to stroke him in time with his thrusts. “Close,” Dean gasps out, then kisses Castiel hard, licking into his mouth with desperation. Castiel thrusts once, twice more, and then Dean is shuddering in his lap, going impossibly tight around Castiel’s cock while he comes. The scent of come and slick fills Castiel’s nose, and there’s no way he can collect himself while Dean rides through the aftershocks—he’s too far gone.

Instead, he tightens his grip on Dean’s hips and fucks up into him, hard and fast. There might be a growl rumbling somewhere in his chest, but at this point he doesn’t care. All he cares about is Dean, and the feeling of his swelling knot pushing past Dean’s rim with every thrust. As it grows, it gets more and more difficult to get it back inside, to the point where he has to swivel and grind his hips up into the omega. Finally, it pops in, past Dean’s slick rim, and locks them in place.

Castiel comes with a stuttered moan, pressing his forehead against Dean’s as the omega clenches down around him. His body sears with white-hot pleasure, the smell of caramel in his nose, and he has the brief thought that he would happily let Dean threaten him with a knife again if it would mean he gets to experience this with the omega even one more time.

It takes a minute or so for Castiel to regain any kind of concentration or motor function. Once his breathing has calmed and he’s managed to loosen his grip on Dean’s hips, sliding his hands down to rest on the omega’s thighs, he meets Dean’s gaze.

The omega is smirking at him, eyebrow raised, but there’s also something sated about him—something not quite so _sharp_. He’s settled on Castiel’s lap, warm and sweaty and pleased, if his scent is anything to go by, and Cas’s alpha purrs in satisfaction at the sight.

He can’t help but grin breathlessly and let his head loll back against the couch. “Fucking hell,” he says with a chuckle. How did he end up here, knotted to the most ruthless and successful pack leader in the city?

“You can say that again.” The edge from Dean’s smirk disappears, and it becomes a grin. “So,” he says, still a little breathless, and his fingertips idly trace the edge of Cas’s tattoo. “About that pack alliance.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, please leave a comment and/or kudos!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://saltnhalo.tumblr.com), and subscribe to me on ao3 [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltnhalo) <3
> 
> ETA: there will be no sequel. This is a fun PWP fic and I have no idea where it goes after this, so I have no motivation to try to continue it when I have so many other ideas I want to play with or finish writing. Thanks for respecting my decision.


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